


The Other Man

by theswearingkind



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-14
Updated: 2006-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Jason doesn't know could kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Big Damn Table prompt #84, he.

Jason kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.  The water runs over them, and even though Peter has it turned on as hot as it can go, it feels cold against Jason’s skin, compared to the heat that’s burning him alive from the inside out.  Jason needs to fuck Peter so badly he’s starting to shake, and Peter can tell.  He knows every single one of Jason’s warning signs, and he pulls away from Jason just long enough to turn around and brace himself against the shower wall, legs a little spread and waiting. 

Behind him, Jason groans, feeling himself get impossibly harder, touching Peter everywhere his hands or mouth or skin will allow.  “No,” he whispers in between kisses, “not like this.  Wanna—I wanna see you, Peter.  Turn around.” 

Peter turns, and the expression on his face makes Jason’s stomach twist.  His eyes are heavy, half-lidded, the electric blue just a ring around his heavy, pitch-black pupils.  He reaches out blindly for Jason, grasping at muscle and hair and pulling him closer, that bitter friction building between their bodies as they move together, until Jason pulls back abruptly, shell-shocked when Peter’s lips attempt to follow him, seeking him out in the dimness of the stall. 

“Tell me you didn’t sleep with him,” Jason gasps, wrapping one of Peter’s legs around his waist, feeling himself press against Peter and hardly able to keep from just pushing in _right that second_ without another thought.  “Tell me.”

“Oh Jesus,” Peter moans.  “Jason, yes.  Oh God, _please._ ” 

“Tell me, Peter.  Tell me you never slept with him.”  God, he’s so _close._

“I—I didn’t.  I didn’t, I swear.” 

And that’s it, that’s enough.  It’s all he can stand before he has to be inside Peter, and he thrusts in with one long movement, swallowing Peter’s moan with his mouth.  God, it’s good, so good he could pass out from the slick heat tightening around him like a fist.  It’s more work this way, because he has to half-support Peter’s weight and be careful that he doesn’t move too suddenly and send them both crashing to the floor, but it’s so fucking worth it—to have every inch of Peter pressed against him like this, to be able to look him in the face while he’s moving inside of him, to dip his tongue into the hollow of Peter’s collarbone and lap up the water that’s pooled there while Peter tangles his fists in Jason’s hair, pulling him back up for another kiss.  This one’s longer and wetter and dirtier, Peter’s tongue mapping the ridges on the roof of his mouth in long sweeps, and it sends sparks running along his spine that connect directly with his dick, and he thrusts faster, harder, lifting Peter up a little bit so that he hits that spot over and over again.  The noise Peter makes can’t accurately be described as anything other than a scream, but it’s muffled as he bites into Jason’s shoulder so hard he’s sure there will be teeth marks, maybe even a bruise.  Just the _sounds_ he’s making are enough to get Jason there, but with his dick surrounded by wet-hot blackness, tight and perfect around him, he’s not sure he’s going to last longer than another thirty seconds or so, particularly when Peter slides his hands down to cup Jason’s ass and _pulls_ , jerking Jason’s hips even harder into Peter, and he’s not sure but he thinks he might be dying.

“God—yes,” Peter gasps.  “Like—like that, Jason, just like—oh please, yes—”

Jason can’t seem to speak a word other than _Peter_ , repeating it over and over, the word spilling from his lips like a prayer.  He manages to wrap a hand around Peter’s dick, flushed and heavy against his stomach, feels it jerk in his hand, but Peter doesn’t come, not yet.  He just moans hot and crazy against Jason’s skin, saying things that don’t make any sense but mean everything to Jason, are worth everything Jason will ever have. 

“Jason, Jesus, I—I could never—I mean, I couldn’t—he wanted me, Jason, but I—no, I told him no, then and now, I just _couldn’t—_ and I was so angry, I was so mad at you, Jason, because you wouldn’t—you wouldn’t _tell_ but God, I love you, God I love you so much, and I don’t want him, I never did, I swear—just you, God, just you, only you, Jason, only ever you—”

“God,” he manages to choke out, “it doesn’t—Peter, it doesn’t matter, just—just—oh God, _please_ —”

“Whatever you need,” Peter whispers in his ear, half-gone.  “Whatever you need, baby—yes— _yes_ —” And Peter tightens around him again, sweet hot pressure slamming into him from every direction, and Jason comes hard and devastating, still buried inside Peter’s body.  His knees buckle and tremble and his whole body is shaking like he’s seen a ghost, and he kisses Peter again, tastes water and salt and something else, something only Peter could ever taste like, and twists his wrist, dragging his hand up and down the length of Peter’s dick, working his hips in long, rough movements until Peter sobs and comes against his skin. 

He’s able to stay standing until Peter’s finished, but no longer.  Jason pulls out and lowers them to the floor as carefully as he can, muscles in his legs and back screaming at him, threatening him with weeks of payback, but he just can’t find it in him to care.  Because Peter’s spread out beneath him, face slack with pleasure, mouth swollen red and tender, eyes almost-closed and seeking Jason’s face.  Jason, who is panting and trying to remember how to speak, because he’s pretty sure there’s something he should say, but words never seem to do justice to how he feels in moments like this.  They just aren’t enough. 

Peter smiles at him and runs a hand through Jason’s wet hair, tracing it down across his jaw-line and along the curve of his lips.  “So beautiful,” he says softly, and Jason doesn’t know how to say that there aren’t words to describe how Peter looks at this moment, flushed and wet, coming down. 

“Jason, I—I meant what I said.”  Peter stops for a second, looks at him meaningfully.  He can’t quite meet Peter’s eyes.  “ _Jason_.  I meant it.  I don’t—I don’t want him, Jason, I never did.  I was just—so mad.  At you.  I wanted—I wanted to punish you, a little.  But I never—I couldn’t, Jason.  I never wanted him.  I love you.  I _want_ you.” 

There’s a twinge in his stomach, something like hatred, or regret, but it doesn’t really matter anymore, not with Peter spread underneath him, saying that he loves Jason.  Jason, and no one else, never anyone else.

“This floor’s probably filthy,” Peter says after a few moments, glancing around at the dingy tile. 

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, relieved to finally be able to contribute something to the conversation. 

“We should probably get up now.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, much more reluctantly.  He doesn’t want to get up now.  He doesn’t want to move, ever.  He wants to stay here, in this second, for the rest of his life, and he wants the rest of the world to just fuck off and leave them the hell alone.

Peter nudges him a little.  “You’re not moving,” he points out.

Jason shrugs, and leans forward to lick some of the water off of Peter’s skin. 


	2. All Possible Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he makes it through summer without molesting this guy, he will count it as a major character victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Big Damn Table prompt #76, who? 
> 
> Also for fragilesymphony's request for "something before _The Other Man_ , with Peter and...him. I'm very curious about this guy-who-is-not-Jason." A prequel, of sorts, to my fic The Other Man, in which numerous references are made to another guy that Peter may or may not have fooled around with.

It’s summer and all bets are off. They have fairly spectacular good-bye sex the night before they’re due to leave and swear to get together at least once—the Fourth of July has been mentioned, and Peter thinks briefly of Jason in swim trunks, wet from the pool and tanned a deep brown, and he has to excuse himself from class to go jerk off in the bathroom—and then that’s it, PeterandJason are back to Peter and Jason, two and a half hours and seven or eight counties apart. 

They never said anything about summer, and that’s what’s throwing him for a loop. When they’d started this, whatever it is, he’d thought it meant—something. Maybe not forever, because they’re fifteen, after all, and who the hell finds what they’re looking for when they’re fifteen, but something more than just fucking around for the hell of it, something bigger than what Lucas and Ivy do when they’re bored and looking for a high that can’t get you kicked out. But maybe not, because Jason never said anything and Peter never asked.

So now Peter’s stranded in suburbia with no clue as to whether or not they’re together over the summer, or if they’re strictly a school-year thing. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you can just ask, he figures, because if they are together it sounds like he wants to go out dicking around, and if they aren’t, he sounds like he’s pushing for a relationship—which is something he isn’t honestly sure that he wants. And isn’t that the bitch of the thing, that he knows he’s gay, he’s known since he was twelve years old, and for the first time in his life he has something that kind of approaches a boyfriend, and now he’s not sure that this is really what he wants.

He knows he wants Jason. He just doesn’t know if he wants everything that goes along with that. 

It’s too hot to think like this, Peter decides, and anyway he’s got to be at work in half an hour. A summer job that his mom got him, making coffee at a café owned by a friend of a friend. The pay is crap and Peter thinks it’s really too bad that the only jobs he’s particularly skilled at performing aren’t on the menu, because he could definitely use the extra cash. 

One sexually frustrated week later—he really has gotten used to having Jason around—a godwalks into the café, and Peter almost drops a non-fat, no-cream, skim-milk macchiato on himself. The triumph of evolution smirks in his direction (dimples, Peter thinks vaguely, he has dimples) and introduces himself as Eric before ducking behind the counter. “I was on vacation,” he explains, almost-black hair curling around his ears, and Peter almost comes in his pants as he realizes that he will be working with the guy every day for the rest of the summer. Suddenly the lousy pay and long hours seem incredibly worth it. 

It doesn’t even occur to him that this vision of gorgeousness might be gay until he’s lugging the garbage out into the alley behind the café one afternoon and he sees Eric leaning way into some guy’s personal space, full lips quirked into a grin and fingers flirting along the waist of the guy’s jeans. 

Peter knows Eric sees him, but he doesn’t mention it. Eric’s business is just that—Eric’s business, and besides, Peter has enough trouble not getting hard around him without adding in a discussion of Eric’s sex life, too.

Plus, there’s always the chance that he’s wrong. Best not to risk it.


End file.
